


The Long and Winding Road

by dieOtter



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Episode: s09e14 Captives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-27
Updated: 2016-02-27
Packaged: 2018-05-23 12:46:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6116923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dieOtter/pseuds/dieOtter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean comes down with something non-supernatural for a change. Can Sam deal with his anger at his brother in time to save him? Set in season 9, just after "Captives".</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

It was a little after 2:00 a.m., a strange time for most people to head out, but Sam was sleepless. He'd heard his brother’s hollow footsteps ghosting past his door more than once that night, so he decided not to wait until morning. To tell the truth, he was happy he'd found a new hunt so soon. The bunker was by far the largest place the two had ever shared, but it wasn’t big enough to contain the both of them as well as the palpable tension that separated them. These past few days weren't easy for him. They probably were no easier for the older Winchester, but right now Sam didn't care. Yes, he'd made the promise, or rather let Kevin force it out of him, but it wasn't like he was lying to their friend – a friend whom he killed. No, he would not venture there again! Deep inside, he wasn't sure if he'd ever be able to get over it. He wanted to, maybe not necessarily forgive and forget, but at least accept what had happened, what his brother had done to him. This wasn't going to happen any time soon, though. The thought of a supernatural being possessing his body, reading his mind, made him sick to his stomach. Maybe Dean had forgotten about Meg, about Lucifer, but Sam never would. Allowing him to experience the hell of being possessed again, this time without Sam even being aware was the worst nightmare he could ever think of. So yeah, right now he didn't care how childish his behavior might have seemed to an outsider or how much his brother was hurt in the process.

He didn’t want to think about it another second. He snapped his laptop shut and moved to the door. Grabbing his duffel, he walked down the corridor to Dean’s bedroom, ready to wake his brother and move on to the next hunt. Knocking brought no answer, though. He repeated the action, stronger this time, suspecting with a pang of jealousy that his brother might have finally managed to fall asleep. Finally, he reached for the doorknob. To his surprise, the room was empty. The rumpled sheets indicated recent occupation. The heavy smell of sweat only confirmed this. Puzzled, Sam walked inside. Dean's duffel was still there, so he couldn't have been gone far or for long. Both the bathroom and the kitchen had been empty when Sam passed them just a minute earlier. That didn't worry Sam much, though. The bunker provided many more nooks and crannies than the motels they used to hole up in. Sam had no doubt that Dean had found somewhere private to indulge himself, wallowing in self-pity and guilt. 

Suddenly, his foot collided with the first aid kit lying open on the floor next to the bed. Sam frowned and knelt down, his eyes falling on the thermometer, the display blinking a temperature of 103.1. A half-empty bottle of painkillers lay next to it. Any anger at Dean evaporating in that instant, Sam jumped up and strode out of the door. 

It didn't take long to find his brother. Dean was in the garage, standing in a sort of curled position, as if he was close to sliding down to his knees, one hand grasping his middle, another trying to land the key in the lock.

“Dean, what the hell are you doing?”

“'m go'ng t' th' 'spital...” Dean muttered and finally gave up, groaning, bending down in the obvious pain, and finally throwing up. With sheer luck Sam managed to catch him before he landed in the pool of his own vomit. A hiss of pain accompanied each intake of breath as Sam eased his brother to the ground, leaning him against the car's door. 

Dean shook violently, his teeth clattering, heat coming off him in waves. He managed to pull his knees closer to his chest and circle them with his arms. Slowly, his lids began to close and he started tilting to the side. Sam reached out a hand, preventing him from tipping over as a new wave of shivers passed through his brother's body.

“Dean, what's wrong?” The younger Winchester's voice was tight with worry, all previous thoughts instantly forgotten.

“Nothing, 'ammy. 'm fine...” It didn't sound convincing, coming from between Dean's gritted teeth.

“Yeah, I can see,” Sam muttered, more to himself than to his brother. “I can see fever and nausea. Can you tell me where it hurts?”

“What the hell do you care!” Dean's voice sounded stronger now, as if he managed to pull himself together after the moment of weakness. 

Fair enough, Sam thought, but he didn't dwell on it. “I do care,” he answered, trying to stay calm. “It doesn't mean I'm not angry at you anymore, but I do care.”

“Fuck off!” The words didn't sound as menacing as they were intended, partially due to Dean's nausea, which chose exactly this moment to come back and torture him some more. Despite the older Winchester's strong will, it was only Sam's muscular arms that stopped him from vomiting all over his trousers. 

“How long?” he asked when Dean was sitting straight again, gasping for air, whether from pain or exhaustion, Sam couldn't tell. 

“That bad? A few hours,” Dean admitted, blinking slowly and slumping further toward the floor, spent and listless.

“And earlier?” 

“Yesterday afternoon, I guess.” 

Sam noticed Dean had stopped shivering. He wasn't sure it was a good sign.

“Where does it hurt?” he repeated the question, even though he already suspected the answer.

“Here.” Dean pointed to his abdomen with obedience that both surprised and worried his brother. If Dean willingly offered Sam information about his health, it must have been really bad.

Sam knew they'd eaten exactly the same the previous day, so he suspected it wasn't food poisoning.

“Does it get worse when you raise your right leg?” he asked.

Despite his obvious pain, Dean ceased writhing long enough to raise a brow. “Th’fuck are you on, dude?”

“Just trust me, Dean,” Sam insisted. 

Instead of answering, Dean huffed out a strained breath and followed his brother’s instruction, slowly raising then lowering his leg. He hissed from the pain before he’d gotten it halfway up, confirming Sam’s suspicions.

“Crap, I think it’s appendicitis. I’m sorry Dean, but we're going to the hospital,” Sam decided, struggling to remain calm despite his worry escalating when his brother didn't protest. 

“I was on my way when you stopped me,” Dean smirked, noticing Sam's concern. With a grimace he held out a shaky hand. “Help me up.”

Sam obeyed. It was slow going, though. Every movement drew a hissing gasp of pain from Dean. Not knowing the severity of his brother’s condition, Sam found it difficult to shift Dean up and into the car without hurting him worse. By the time Dean was sitting in the passenger seat, both brothers were panting heavily, drenched in sweat. 

“S'mmy...” Dean whispered, now too weak to speak up. “Find some bag or s'mthing. I don't wanna...” He vaguely gestured towards his mouth, his intention clear.

“Okay, hold on.” Why does this idiot always have to think about his car first? Sam shook his head, then ran up to the kitchen, grabbed an old shopping bag, hoping Dean didn’t have much left to vomit, stepped into his bedroom to grab his wallet and a blanket, and hurried back to the garage. Dean hummed in approval when the blanket covered him but he didn't stir.

“Hey, dude, open your eyes! No sleeping till we get there!” Sam gently squeezed his brother's leg.

“Wh't, you're afr'd t' drive on y'r own?” Dean smirked, his voice slurred and barely audible.

“Yeah, watch out or I may scratch your Baby,” Sam answered him, forcing a smile to his lips as he put the key into the ignition.

“Try 'n 'll kill ya.” Dean's eyes fell shut.

“Hey, Dean, you remember when I had appendicitis?” Sam asked, desperately trying to keep his brother awake while watching the road at the same time. He was driving fast, too fast in fact, but although the road was winding, luckily there wasn't much traffic at this time of night.

“S're. You were sev'n, Dad was gone, I freak'd out,” Dean admitted.

“Yeah, you did, but you kept it together. I remember you called an ambulance and held my hand the whole time.” Both brothers smiled at the memory.

“N'me,” the older Winchester clarified.

“What? I think I remember all the people who ever held my hand.” 

That was a lame joke, but Dean smiled nevertheless. “I don'ink th're were many.” 

His brother's eyes were still closed, but as long as he was talking, Sam was fine with this. 

“Wasn't me who called the amb'nce. The lan'lady did,” Dean continued after taking a long breath.

“But you ran for her when you realized how serious it was. You saved me back then.” He really did, Sam realized. Even being a little boy, freaking out at the sight of his little brother crying with pain, Dean managed to keep his fear under control and concentrate on him.

“Yeah,” Dean murmured in a strange, disconnected voice that raised Sam's worry to a completely new level. 

“Dean?” He called, suddenly not sure if his brother was still fully with him.

“Tell Dad, I'm sorry, S'my...” his brother whispered, his voice barely audible now.

“Dad?” Sam repeated in shock.

“I can't look aft'ya now...” Dean's voice broke, as if it was suddenly hard for him to take a breath. “Call'im. I d'n't wan'ya t'be 'lone... There's s'me pie in the fridge... You can eat it... I don't...” His head lolled to the side, stopping only after it collided with his little brother's shoulder.

“Dean!” Sam yelled, pressing the gas pedal with all his strength. He had never been as happy to see a hospital in his life as he was now.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean woke up to the smell of hospital, one of the things he hated the most in his life. The light came next – so bright that it forced him to close his eyes as soon as he opened them. His thoughts seemed to move lazily like fish under water; every time he tried to catch one and drag it over the surface, they all dispersed quickly. After a moment he decided to give up. He'd never been a fan of fishing anyway, he lacked the patience for it.

His head began to ache from the effort, and probably also because of drugs. The drugs... the hospital... His eyes shot open once again as the memories from the previous night slammed into his head like a flock of harpies. He groaned softly, both at the physical pain and the chaos in his head. Finally, he managed to grasp some more coherent thought and he tried to concentrate on it, slowly recalling bits and pieces of what had happened the previous night. What he recalled only made him angry. Had he really managed to get himself into such a mess that he'd needed his brother to literally haul him to the ER? He shook his head, and pain hit him straight between the eyes, reminding him to avoid such movements for this moment. He took a few deep breaths and took stock of his body, this time much more carefully. The white-hot agony from the previous night was gone, which he was thankful for. There was an IV in the crook of his elbow, he also felt a dressing under his hospital gown. With every movement the stitches in his abdomen pulled, which drew a sharp hiss the first time he tried it, but compared to his previous experience with being hospitalized, he decided he could live with that. He'd bet he was already more used to stitches than any other patient in his ward, maybe even in the whole hospital. 

He licked his lips unconsciously, realizing how much time must have passed since he'd last drank anything. He cast a glance to his left, fully expecting to see his brother, but, to his surprise, the green plastic car was empty. He blinked slowly and looked around in confusion.

He only vaguely remembered what had happened after Sam had found him throwing up his guts on the hard concrete floor of the garage, but he knew his brother had managed to get him to the hospital in time to save his life. 

His first thought was that Sammy must have gone to the restroom, but although his thoughts still swirled in his head too fast to really grasp one of them, he finally managed to understand that too much time had passed for Sam to leave just for a while. 

When a nurse's head finally appeared in the doorway, he gave out a long sigh of relief.

“Mornin',” she chirped. “Good to see you back with us. How are you feeling?”

“Fine.” His voice sounded like a coffin lid opening. She must have noticed it, since she left without a word, and soon came back with a cup of water and a straw. He took it gratefully and sipped for a few times, enough to get his voice back to ask:

“Have you seen my brother?”

“The tall, long-haired guy? He was here when you came out of surgery, but left soon after.”

“Ah...” he nodded and once again was reminded why he shouldn't do this yet. 

“Your head aches?” asked the nurse with concern, noticing his grimace.

“No, I'm okay,” he lied, eager to get rid of her as soon as possible. The woman was young and kind of sexy, he had to admit, still he didn't feel much like flirting. All he wanted right now was to be left alone with his thoughts, hoping he could finally make their mad polka dance stop for good. 

The nurse must have noticed his mood, because she stopped trying to engage him in a conversation, simply checked his fever and dressings and turned back to leave the room. 

“Wait,” Dean stopped her. “Can you give me my things back? I want to leave.”

“You want to leave?” she repeated, her expression shocked. “You've just woken up after a life-saving surgery!”

“I'll be fine, just give me my phone and wallet back,” he cut her off. His mind was concentrated on only one idea: Sammy's not here, something must be wrong.

“You didn't have a wallet with you. In fact, the only possession we found on you was a pocket knife, which, by the way, we are keeping in the safe for you.” 

There was a hint of curiosity in the last statement. Dean ignored it, though. Instead of answering the woman, he slowly sat up. Somewhere at the bottom of the moody pool of his mind, there still seemed to be an awareness that he didn’t have any way to reach Sam, or the bunker for that matter, if he managed to leave. He ignored it as well, concentrating his whole energy on rising to his feet. He managed to do that, and even sent a triumphant smile towards the nurse, who still stood in the doorway watching him. At that moment, his head spun and he surged forward. With help of what he suspected was some magic trick, the nurse managed to approach him quick enough to catch his arm and gently lower him back to the bed. He groaned loudly in frustration, but, all his energy spent, he had no other choice than to let her push him all the way back and tuck a blanket around him. 

“I guess you're not leaving AMA then,” she smiled, but then added with more serious expression. “I'm sure your brother left only because he had to, and he'll probably be back soon anyway. I know he cares a lot about you.”

“No, he doesn't,” Dean whispered in response. It all dawned on him at once, making him feel as if he was drowning in his own mind. Sam didn't care. Sam had stated clearly he no longer regarded Dean as his brother. 

A year ago his Sammy’d sit all night in this uncomfortable, plastic chair. Sammy’d refuse to be chased away by nurses. Sammy would be there for his brother when he woke up. Because that’s what brothers did—what they needed to do. Because they didn’t know any other way.

Those days were long gone now, so long that to Dean they seemed like the life of some other person. There was no 'his Sammy'. There was Sam, the strong, self-dependent, angry man. 

He had every reason to be angry, though. So many reasons that Dean couldn't even bring himself to think about them without that terrible drowning feeling he knew too well. It was his fault. He'd let his brother down....

Still, despite all that had happened between them, he'd expected to see his brother's huge form curled in the too small chair, as he had so many times before. It still hurt him to realize Sam simply had seen no reason to stay with him. 

Time passed, nurses and doctors came and went. There still was no sign of the younger Winchester, and Dean had finally drifted back to sleep. 

_It was dark all around him. He was running, bumping into walls he couldn't see, falling to his knees every couple of steps until his whole body ached, but he didn't stop, didn't even slow down. He knew he had to reach Sammy before it was too late._

_The narrow corridors went on and on, sometimes turning unexpectedly, sometimes dividing into two or more passages, forcing him to feel his way into one or another without any clue where he was going, where he was supposed to go. The whole place reminded him of a labyrinth. He couldn't do it alone, he realized. He needed help._

_“Bobby!” he called out loud, and when only silence responded, it dawned on him that his surrogate father was dead. The realization of it hit him so hard that he stopped dead in his tracks. No one would help him. He was trapped here. He couldn't reach Sammy in time. There was no one else to call. Everybody, who might have cared about what happened to him or his brother, was dead. Most of them because of him. Ellen, Jo, Bobby, Rufus, Kevin... The young prophet’s face with his eyes burned out still haunted him every time he closed his eyes._

_Suddenly, a bright light hit his eyes. It seemed to come from no direction and every direction at once. It blinded him, filled his head with white-hot agony. He screamed._

_After a short moment, the light subsided, and he managed to open his eyes again. The labyrinth was gone. It could have never been there in fact. He was standing in a huge room, its floor made of hard stone, its walls so far away that they were still half-hidden by the veil of darkness._

_In the middle of the room there was a body. He recognized it immediately and took a shaky step back._

_“It's impossible,” he whispered._

_Black eyes opened, revealing equally burned-out pupils._

_“You promised, Dean,” Kevin said, and it sounded so close, as if he was whispering straight into Dean's ear. “You promised to protect me. I trusted you!”_

_“I know,” he answered, even though he knew his friend couldn't be real. “I'm sorry, Kevin. But I have to find Sam before it's too late, please, help me find him!”_

_“It's already too late,” Kevin said sadly. His head turned away, eyes concentrating on the darkness to Dean's right. Slowly, a tall figure emerged into the light. He'd recognize that person everywhere._

_“I trusted you!” Sam repeated Kevin's words, louder, more menacing. “You let me down! I've always known you cannot be trusted. You're too pathetic, too concentrated on yourself. Your needs, your pleasures, you're a selfish little bastard!”_

_“It's not true, Sam, you know it's not true...” he tried to defend himself._

_Sam gave out a sharp laugh, so unlike his brother's normal guffaw._

_“You tricked me. You betrayed me. And now you want forgiveness?”_

_“I'm sorry!”_

_“Too late for that.” Sam's eyes lit with a bright blue light and when it was gone, Dean knew for sure it was not his brother standing in front of him._

_“You!” he hissed. But Gadrael wasn't looking at him anymore. He was shooting glances and nods of approval, maybe even greeting, towards more figures emerging from the darkness. Dean could recognize them all. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry...” he repeated, terrified of the moment they started speaking._

_“Too late for that,” they repeated once more._

_“You let us down...”_

_“You failed to save us...”_

_“We trusted you...”_

_“Noooo!” Dean tried to cover his ears with his hands, but the shadows kept on approaching him, their voices getting louder and louder all around him. Every person he'd failed to save. There were dozens of them, and still more were coming, joining in the choir. Gadrael was leading them, deliberately altering his expressions to look just like his brother._

_“Pathetic!”_

_“Loser!”_

_“Coward!”_

_“Traitor!”_

_“Murderer!”_

“Dean!”

“I'm sorry, Sammy,” he sobbed. “I'm so sorry...”

“Dean. Hey, Dean, you've got to breathe, okay?” A warm hand encircled his bicep. He shuddered and tried to cower, but the hit he expected never came.

“Slowly, in and out. Just calm down...” The voice coaxed him gently. “That's right. Now, open your eyes. Will you do that for me? 

Dean slowly blinked, trying to focus on the shape in front of him.

“Sammy?”


	3. Chapter 3

The moment Sam, frantic with worry, finally passed his brother into the doctors' hands, he felt as if he was thrown into some kind of void. The world moved on all around him, but he seemed to be completely disconnected from it. Dean was wheeled away from him in a flurry of activity, and soon he found himself sitting alone in a waiting room, not able to recall how he'd gotten there in the first place. A tired-looking nurse tried to get him to fill out some forms, but she gave up after a first few attempts, simply leaving the pile of papers on an empty chair next to him. Whatever she said to him, it must have stuck somewhere in his mid-ear, because it never reached his brain cells. All his mind was concentrated on was Dean, ghostly pale, shivering with pain and fever, asking for their long-gone Dad in a frail, barely audible voice, and still thinking about his little brother's well-being. 

Was he really so blinded by his own anger that he hadn't noticed how sick his brother was? Dean had always been good at concealing his pain, both physical and psychical, but Sam had usually managed to see through his brother's mask of “I'm fine, leave me alone”. Though, to see, he needed to look first. When was the last time he really looked at Dean? 

Sam shook his head, trying to get himself together and reached for the forms. He filled in his brother's name, together with a false surname he knew Dean was using at the moment, then stopped again at the blank space that requested the patient's birth place. Lawrence. The first place his brother had saved his life. Sam'd been too young to remember the fire, but he knew Dean had never forgotten it. When he thought back, he realized that the words “Look out for your brother” so often repeated by their father had never been needed. From this one moment, all these years ago, when infant Sammy had been placed in his brother's arms, Dean had known no other purpose. 

It didn't change how he felt about his brother's decision to let Gadrael possess him, but for God's sake, it was still Dean, who'd practically raised him on his own, who'd always been there for him! Sam's anger at the betrayal was still too raw to make concessions or absolve his brother, but he couldn’t forget, either. 

Hours passed, and Sam felt as if it were years. There was still no news concerning Dean, and the thought of the hunt waiting for him wouldn't stop nagging him, no matter how hard he tried to push it away. He knew that somewhere out there another girl, a fourth one, could be killed by a werewolf, but despite the full moon mocking him from behind the window, he couldn't force himself to head out. 

When finally a new nurse, older and kinder than the previous one, approached him with the offer to take him to Dean, he gave out a long sigh of relief. The surgery went well, as he was informed by an elderly doctor, although if he hadn't brought his brother in so quickly, the man added, Dean's life might have been endangered. Sam didn't want to dwell on this fact. There would be time to reprimand his brother for concealing how sick he'd been. Or maybe to admit that there might have been his fault here as well. Right now all that mattered was that Dean was fine and awake.

Or partly awake, as it turned out. The anesthesia had worn off, but Dean was still so drugged and drowsy, that Sam doubted if his brother was truly aware of what was going on around him.

“You're alright, Sammy? Did we get it?” The order in which the older Winchester asked these questions brought a warm smile to Sam's face. Could he really blame Dean for the fact he loved his little brother more than anything else, including himself? So what if Dean couldn't, wouldn't live without him, if he was even afraid to be left alone? Nothing of it was his brother's fault. It was the way he was conditioned to feel for so long there was no chance for him to know anything else. Yes, it also led him to the decision to let a crazy angel into his younger brother's body without the said brother's knowledge or consent, but no matter how wrong, how sick it was, could Sam really blame Dean for his intentions while making that decision? 

What was he supposed to say? I forgive you? He still wasn't sure if he did. I'm sorry? He wasn't sorry, not yet. That anger was still boiling somewhere deep inside him, despite being pushed aside by love and worry. 

“I love you, Dean,” he whispered, before he even had the time to think about what he was saying.

“S'ch a girl, Sammy.” Dean smiled gently, and his eyes fell shut. 

“I've gotta leave you for a while, man,” Sam told him. “There's a hunt that can't wait. But I'll be back as soon as I can,” he continued, although he suspected none of his words reached Dean's drug-pumped mind. “Just don't do any more tricks on me, okay?” He smiled, watching his brother’s peaceful face as he slept, and quietly left the room.

~*~

The werewolf hunt turned out to be one of the easiest things Sam had worked on in months. The creature was so eager to kill that it wouldn't lose time for such nuances as caution. The surprise on its face when the hunter's silver blade pierced its heart was almost funny, although the sting where its claws marked Sam's wrist made the young Winchester angry enough to put his whole strength into the stab. He didn’t have time for dwelling on such things as pain, though. Not now, when his brother was alone in a hospital bed, and there was a possibility that he wouldn't even remember why Sam had left him there in the first place. 

The drive back took him much longer than he expected due to the traffic. Hence, when Sam got back to the hospital, it was the middle of the day, and the moment he stepped out of the elevator he was attacked by a petite redhead nurse, who informed him in a slightly indignant voice that his brother had already been asking about him. 

Convinced that Dean would be pissed as hell, Sam hurried to his brother's room, stopping the moment he reached the door. Dean was asleep, but he was restless. His head kept on lolling from side to side, his lips moved as if he were trying to talk, but no sound escaped them. Suddenly, his breath hitched and a lonely tear fell down his cheek. 

“Dean?” Sam walked closer, not sure if he should wake his brother up. It was obvious that his brother was tormented by some kind of nightmare, but at the same time Sam knew how much the older Winchester hated to be seen like this. 

Dean gave out a short, broken sob, which helped Sam make up his mind.

“Dean!” he called, leaning slightly over his brother's bed.

“I'm sorry, Sammy, I'm so sorry...” Dean sobbed, still held firmly in the dream's iron grasp. His breathing quickened, starting to come in short, labored gasps. It was painful to watch, yet Dean still didn't react to Sam's raised voice. 

_God, he's having a panic attack!_ Sam realized suddenly.

“Dean. Hey, Dean, you've got to breathe, okay?” He grabbed his brother's arm in an attempt to shake him awake. Dean's reaction was far from what Sam expected. He raised his other hand over his head, as if he was trying to protect himself from a blow. He started to tremble, his breathing getting closer to wheezing. 

Sam didn't know what to do. He started to gently massage his brother's shoulder, all the time murmuring quietly:

“Slowly, in and out. Just calm down...” Dean lowered his arm and turned his head towards Sam. His breathing slowed down a little bit, even though he was still slightly shaking. “That's right. Now, open your eyes,” Sam coaxed. “Will you do that for me?”

Dean obeyed. He blinked slowly, his eyes glistening and not fully focused. Then his glance rested on his brother and he sighed with apparent relief.

“Sammy?” he half stated, half asked, as if not sure if his brother was real.

“Yeah, I'm here, it's alright.” Sam no longer cared if the chick-flick moment would embarrass or annoy his brother. The scene he had just witnessed touched his heart even more than the last night's worry about Dean's physical well-being. Although he couldn't know what Dean's nightmare had been about, he was perfectly aware how his behavior must have affected his brother's mental state. He'd known how fragile Dean was under the macho cover. He couldn't understand how it had happened that in his hurt and anger he'd used that knowledge against his brother. 

“I'm sorry, Dean,” he offered, and he felt it was the most sincere thing his brother had heard from him for a very long time. Not counting the things Sam said when Dean was delirious or drugged, of course.

“What?” Dean had apparently managed to regain some control over himself. Now he eyed his brother with a mixture of surprise and embarrassment.

“I know I was a dick recently. I'm sorry for that.”

Dean didn't answer, just stared at the younger Winchester with caution, as if he was expecting Sam to take his words back as a cruel joke.

“It doesn't mean that I'm not angry or that I'm okay with what you did. I don't think I'll ever be okay with it, to tell you the truth. But I said some cruel things to you when I was mad, and I just want you to know that's not how I really feel about you.”

“So, I'm not a selfish, pathetic coward?” Dean tried to make it sound like a joke, but it came out rather lame. 

“Maybe a bit.” Sam finally took a step back from his brother and sat in a chair next to the bed. “I meant it when I said you're afraid of being left on your own. But the thing is, I had no right to say that. First, nothing of it is your fault, and second, I should be thankful. You took care of me for as long as I can remember. You saved me thousands of times and in countless ways. You just need to understand that you can't do it on and on...”

“I can and I will,” Dean broke in.

“No, Dean,” Sam bit the inside of his cheek, forcing himself to keep his emotions under the surface. “I need you to understand that there are limits. I know you'd give your life for mine and I'm honored by it, I really am. But in your case it isn't normal any more. You'd do anything, literally anything to save me, and it scares the hell out of me, man. I trust you to have my back in any fight we get ourselves in, and you know you can trust me in the same way. But that's it. When our time comes, we go. That's what I meant when I said I wouldn't do the same thing you did. I would fight as hard as I could to save your life, but if it still wasn't enough, I'd have to accept that. Doesn't mean I would be okay with losing you. But I'd let you go. Can I ask you to do the same for me?”

Dean kept quiet, his gaze fixed on a wall. Sam waited, wondering whether he should say more, say how betrayed, how dirty he felt after being possessed yet again and this time with the help of his own brother. He decided not to talk about it, though. He knew once the topic of Gadrael was brought up, neither of the brothers would be able to keep their emotions in check. Besides, there was a broader picture there. Gadrael, or Dean's forty years in hell – Sam didn't know which of these two was worse. It was the common denominator that was important now – the fact that his brother valued Sam's life much higher than his own, that he defined himself by the younger Winchester's well-being. How come he needed Dean to be in a life-threatening situation to get over his anger enough to try to see things from his brother's point of view? He realized it now, there was no point in trying to convince Dean that Sam wasn't worth sacrificing everything for him. Sam's new task was to prove to his brother that he was as valuable a human being as his little brother. That he was an individual worthy of living his own life and being happy about it. It wasn't an easy task, Sam was aware of it. First of all, he had his brother's broken childhood to defeat, and how to fight four decades of hell – he didn't even know where to start. But he'd try, because yes, he wouldn't bring his brother back from the dead, but he could at least ensure Dean would not only stay alive, but really living his life for no one else than himself.

“What happened to your hand?” Dean's voice broke Sam out of his thoughts. He followed his brother's gaze to a bandage covering three parallel slashes on his wrist.

“A werewolf's claws, nothing to worry about.” He smiled noticing the worried frown that appeared immediately on his brother's face. Apparently, there was a long way before them.

“A werewolf'? And can you tell me where did you manage to find a werewolf between here and the bunker?” Dean raised his eyebrows in question.

“Dean...” Sam sighed. “Do you think I'd really leave you with a bursting appendix and go take a nap in my own bed?”

The older Winchester's eyebrows raised yet another notch.

“I was on a hunt, Dean. Last night was a full moon. I'm sorry I didn't wait, but if I hadn't headed out the moment I knew you were out of danger, more people would have died.” Sam explained. “That's why I was looking for you last night. I meant to tell you, but you were writhing in pain and almost delirious, and later, when you woke up after the surgery, you were too drugged to remember anything.”

“Wait, what? You were here when I woke up?” Dean's eyes widened in surprise.

“Yeah, where else would I be? I wouldn't leave not knowing if you were going to be okay.”

Dean simply nodded, closing his eyes and letting his head fall back on the pillow. He looked so spent Sam felt pity for him. However, the younger Winchester felt that he needed to resolve some of the tension vibrating off his brother.

“I hope you behaved yourself after I left,” he joked. “Because if you were as grabby with your hands with the nurses as you were with me, I'm afraid you can expect their boyfriends waiting for you round the corner.” It was a little lie, but still Sam couldn't hold back a wide grin at seeing his brother's terrified expression.

“I so didn't hold hands with you!”

“You so did!”

“Bitch!”

“Jerk!”

They hadn't used that exchange of invectives for a long time, but now it sounded so natural they both flashed wide smiles. At last, everything seemed to be winding in the right direction.

THE END


End file.
